


First Flight

by stuffbyshelbyfics



Series: Witchy Pines [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffbyshelbyfics/pseuds/stuffbyshelbyfics
Summary: Ford finally gets the hang of levitation.





	First Flight

**Author's Note:**

> alright this is the first fic i'm posting on here, be gentle with me please

It was sunset in the sleepy little town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, and Fiddleford McGucket was contentedly fluffing up the pillows on his huge soft bed - one of many in his newly acquired mansion - and preparing to go to sleep at promptly nine thirty. Stanford had insisted that a precise sleep schedule would help get his still slightly scrambled mind back to full health, and after a few nights of this routine Fiddleford heartily believed him. He felt better rested than he could remember being since arriving in town all those years ago - which was no hard feat, considering the state of his memory, but Stanford was helping him with that too, with the use of homemade spells and suchlike.

Fiddleford still wasn’t entirely sure where he stood on the whole magic business, seeing how quite a lot of it had almost ended the world last summer. But he trusted Stanford, and even if the incantations and potions were a little spooky they sure helped him stay calm.

The ornate door into the Northwests’ former bedroom opened and Stanford entered, with two cups of tea and a warm smile. “Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

Fiddleford stretched out on the soft sheets, feeling his limbs twinge, and smiled back at his dearest friend. “I’m happier n’ a honeybear in the world’s biggest beehive, hon’,” he said happily. “You’ve been doin’ so much fer me, I don’t know how I can ever repay ya.”

“Don’t worry about that, darling,” Stanford reassured him, “You just focus on getting better.”

He set the mugs of tea (hand painted by Mabel, of course) down on one of the nightstands and took a seat at the edge of the expansive bed - and then lay all the way down, running his arms over the sheets, his eyes closed. It was without a doubt the softest thing he’d ever laid on.

Fiddleford giggled scratchily, looking lovingly at the sprawled figure at the foot of his bed. “Comfy, ain’t it?”

Stanford nodded wordlessly, heaving a sigh of appreciation. Fiddleford’s gaze remained drawn to his partner as if by a magnetic force, and he felt a familiar fluttering in his stomach. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch Stanford’s chest, and stopped. “Can I-?” he asked, his raspy voice trembling slightly.

Stanford opened a drowsy eye, saw Fiddleford’s outstretched hand, smiled, and nodded. Filled with relief, the small man laid his wrinkled hand on his lover’s chest and gently began to rub. Stanford closed his eyes again, sighing with pleasure, and after a few minutes (and a pause to take his boots off) he sat up and leaned sideways, pressing his lips to Fiddleford’s.

The two old men sank down on the warm sheets, which seemed to almost engulf them in a soft embrace as they moved their bodies closer to each other. Fiddleford’s hands moved under Stanford’s sweater and across his back, massaging and caressing the stiff rolls of muscle and scar tissue. Stanford moaned quietly and moved his head down to kiss his lover’s chest. Unseen by both of them, Stanford’s hands began to emit a dim golden glow as his fingers tangled in Fiddleford’s beard on their way to untie the belt of his bathrobe. As the ornate fretwork clock on the wall rocked the minutes away, the two of them gently floated up off of the bed, so softly that neither of them noticed.

After a few minutes, Fiddleford noticed that he wasn’t lying on the bed anymore. He figured muzzily that Stanford had picked him up, and turned his mind back to the business at hand. It was only after a few more minutes that he noticed that Stanford wasn’t lying on the bed anymore, either. Surreptitiously, he turned his face away from Stanford’s and cracked open an eye. They were both hovering only a couple of inches from the ceiling, and the glow of Stanford’s hands was now much brighter.

A creaky groan escaped from Fiddleford’s chest as he stared at the bed below them. His mind was primarily occupied by the thought that even though the ceiling - and, subsequently, the two of them - were not that high up, he was by no means a large man, what with spending thirty years living in the dump not being the best for one’s nutrition. However, spending the past year sailing around the world with his brother had put the extra firmness on Stanford’s already quite compact muscles, and Fiddleford couldn’t escape the fact that if they fell back onto the bed from this height with Stanford on top of him, it was going to hurt.

He turned his face back to Stanford, whose eyes were still closed and his face sculpted in a picture of ecstasy. Presently, he opened his eyes, saw Fiddleford’s frozen expression, said “What’s wro-”, looked past him - and dropped like a stone.

Fiddleford opened his eyes. Much to his surprise, the impact hadn’t been that bad, although Stanford landing on top of him had knocked all the wind out of him. The latter raised his head, his eyebrows curved upwards in concern. “Oh my gosh, are you alright? I’m so sorry -”

“I’m fit as a fiddle, I promise,” Fiddleford reassured his beloved, “but ya might wanna give me a minute to get my breath back.”

Stanford exhaled in relief. “Thank goodness.” Then his face split into a wide smile, the kind Fiddleford remembered him having whenever he saw a rare plant or a particularly dangerous anomaly. “That was incredible! I never thought I could get the hang of levitation, but there must be an emotional component! I have to experiment -”

“Hold yer horses, Stanford,” Fiddleford warned him gently, “You’ve gotta get some shut-eye too, remember? Can’t this experiment a’ yers wait ‘till tomorrow?”

Stanford appeared to reign in his enthusiasm. “Ah, of course.” He smiled shyly. “Would you be alright with picking up where we left off?”

Fiddleford put his hands on Stanford’s shoulders, giving him a warm smile in return. “I’d love to, darlin’.”


End file.
